


The Letter for Dream

by MapleKitty



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe-The Letter for the King, Basically gonna follow the plot, Bounty Hunter/Merchant Dream, DREAM IS NOT THE KING, Dream as Lavinia, Dream is a bounty hunter, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, George as Tiuri, I swear, King Technoblade?, Kissing, Love, M/M, Magic, Mutual Pining, Romance, The Letter for the King AU, Young Knight Bad, Young Knight Skeppy, Young Knight Vincent, Young Knight is a novice, Young Knight! George, Young Knight! Sanap, add tags later, but better, except make changes to make me happy, magical powers, medieval setting, other minor characters from the show - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:27:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25498336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MapleKitty/pseuds/MapleKitty
Summary: A ruthless prince threatens to spill the world into darkness, and it is up to a young knight named George to embark on an epic quest and deliver a secret letter to the king. With monsters, Red Riders, and his own friends hunting him down, will George be able to come out victorious? Along the way, will he meet the one that haunts his dreams?~~~Basically, The Letter for the King AU where George is Tiuri and Dream is Lavinia, with alterations. They fall in love, magic happens, and they save the world. Rating may change.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Zak Ahmed/Darryl Noveschosch, dreamnotfound - Relationship, gream - Relationship
Comments: 7
Kudos: 34





	The Letter for Dream

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everybody~  
> This is my first fanfiction and my first contribution to the Dreamnotfound fandom! I've had this idea in my head ever since I watched The Letter for the King, so I finally decided to give it a try! You did not have to watch the show to understand the fic, but I have this link that will help out with world building (WARNING INCLUDES SPOILERS FOR THE SHOW): https://www.thecinemaholic.com/the-letter-for-the-king-map-explained/#:~:text=The%20Kingdom%20of%20Dagonaut&text=Out%20of%20the%20three%20main,the%20dominion%20of%20Queen%20Alianor.&text=In%20the%20North%2C%20it%20is%20surrounded%20by%20the%20Northern%20Peaks.  
> Any help is welcome, I want my writing to get better. Friendly reminder that I respect both Dream and George with all my heart, and if they express any discomfort with this, I will delete it.  
> Enjoy!

His back against the packed, hard grass of rolling hills, George breathed out a deep sigh as his eyes flitted open again. Eyes met the pale blue canvas stretched across the world, dotted with puffs of white in indecipherable shapes. George kept his eyes on the slowly shifting clouds, relishing the wind sweeping the grass around him and curling around his body in a cool hug. He breathed back in and this time tried harder to concentrate on the nature surrounding him. Every blade of grass grazing his skin, every kiss the wind flitted on his cheek, every ray of sunlight warming him. As if him and nature were one.

Suddenly, the air stilled, and George watched as the clouds started shifting at an unnatural pace, and he started to hear them again. The whispers. The clouds were moving into a shape…a face?

 _Save him…_ the clouds whispered.

The whispers morphed into distant screams, the clouds an unnaturally smoothed out and distinctive angular face. It blinked down at him, a mischievous smirk curling upwards.

Before George could make out any other features, before the whispers got loud enough to drown out all other thoughts, a sudden voice called out:

“George! Where are you?”

George shot up in the grass, trying to shake the incoming headache away. The wind picked up again as the clouds swirled back into indecipherable poofs. He squinted over in the direction of the voice. His mother stood at the bottom of the hill, holding a wicker basket full of fruits on one hip and a training sword resting on her other shoulder. George giggled nervously, stumbling down the hill towards his mother.

She smiled at him as he drew near, “How are the fields looking from up there?”

George rolled his eyes, “Ah, I’ve never seen more beautiful shades of yellows in my life.”

His mother laughed, her coffee brown eyes glinting with cheer as she gently hit his head with the training sword.

“Do you plan on speaking to the imaginary fey in the trees all day? You are going to keep Bors waiting.”

“Tiny fairies would probably be better company,” George grumbled, taking the sword from his mother’s tanned hand and making his way towards the castle’s training grounds. As if he couldn’t wait to get beaten into the ground again. George internally groaned, rubbing his head in a futile attempt to dull his sharp migraine. If he was lucky, Bors would knock him out fast and he’d be forced into a deep enough slumber to forget this headache.

* * *

Unfortunately, God disagreed with his wishes.

George spit dirt out of his mouth for the fifth time in the hour. He has been spitting this very dirt nearly every day for the past eight years now that George swore he could now distinguish his training ground dirt from any other dirt on the planet. He looked up to see Bors smiling down on him, his stone sword weighing heavily on George’s helmet. It seems today was hit George’s head with a sword day, George thought.

“Your counter was weak, _again_. Left your entire side open for a swing.” Bors reached down and helped George up again.

“I’m sorry Bors, I’m just not strong enough.” George refused to look up into his eyes. How many times was he going to have fail before they realized he just wasn’t fit to be a knight?

Bors picked up George’s fallen shield and tried to hand it back. The distant clang of sword against shield surrounding the training grounds being the only sound either heard for a moment.

“Your issue is not your physical strength; it is your mental fortitude.”

George rolled his eyes but couldn’t contain his smile as he accepted his shield back from Bors. Even if he happened to put on twenty more pounds and grow a couple more centimeters, fighting against Bors and his mammoth size would always be a losing battle. The man could wrestle a bear with one arm and drink ale with the other.

“You are such a sap.” George mocked, swinging his sword freely in his left and shifting into position.

“Ah, but it works, no?” Bors shrugged, casually shifting into stance.

“I think your mental fortitude could use--“

Bors suddenly swung his sword, causing George to quickly dodge right and lift his shield to parry it away. Bors stumbles for a second, before quickly regaining his footing and sweeping his sword low, aiming to knock George down again by hitting the back of his knees. Too late to dodge to the side, George jumps up, tucking his knees as close to his chest as possible. He barely dodges the sweep, losing his footing and tumbling back. Bors quickly turned his sweeping movement into an overarching swing. George rolls away from Bors, feeling the air slice a millimeter from his face. Bors heavy stone smashed into the dirt, throwing more dirt into George’s face as he scrambled to get back up. Bors repeated his over the head swing, George lifting his shield just in time to prevent another knockback. The force of the stone could be felt in George’s bones, and he huffed in annoyance at Bors’s brute strength.

“Offense, George!”

George pushed his shield forward and to the side, forcing Bors to swing his sword out to his right side. George slips to the opposite side of his sword, kicking the back of Bors knee. Bors grunted as he was forced onto one knee, trying to slash his sword from the outside in. George panicked, unsure what to do with the advantage. He hesitantly hit the blunt side of his sword against the opening in the armor around the neck, making Bors fall further onto his hands. The victory was clearly in sight, but at that moment George heard the all familiar hoof beats of his father’s horse, followed by the rest of his hunting party. George looked up, sword still in air. Then, all his breath was forced out of him as Bors buried the hilt of his sword into his stomach, and he crumbled to the floor once more. Sir George the Valiant walked up to them with a heavy sigh.

“Another loss?”

George, still struggling to breathe again, managed: “Almost a win this time.”

“Almost means death in battle.” George’s brown eyes finally looked up to meet his father’s blue, the grimace on his face clear through his dirt blonde stubble. George couldn’t help the heat of shame crawling up his neck and settle across his cheeks in a burning blush.

“I’m sorry Sir. Maybe I should wait another year before-“

Sir George cut him off, “You are eighteen now George. If you carry my name, you carry my honor. You must become a knight and continue the lineage. I will not allow you to be the one to break the generational chain of knights that have come before you. The novice competition is tomorrow, and you must be ready.”

Before George could reply, a sharp laugh cut through. Sir Fantumar and two other knights had made their way over, a vile smile stretching Fantumar’s graying beard out as he came to stand next to Sir George. George got himself up as Sir Fantumar scoffed:

“Does this boy even count as your own, Sir George? It is probably the lack of Dagonaut blood in him. He is purebred Eviellan. Makes sense he would not have the strength to become a Dagonaut knight.”

George’s cheeks burned brighter as he scrambled to put away his sword and training gear to vacate the premises as fast as possible. Sir Fantumar would never waste an opportunity to remind him that George was Eviellan, and that he was lucky to have been found by Sir George’s good graces instead of a slave trader. And even if George wasn’t as tan as his mother, his caramel eyes and brown hair and accent usually gave him away. To the flourishing kingdom of Dagonaut, who profited off the century old war against Eviellan, Eviellans like George and his mother would always be less than human. Savages who talked to trees and whispered about magic. Some luck, George thought, to have been born into a people who have been driven from their homes and forced to hide everything about themselves for the sake of survival.

Bors interjected before Sir Fantumar could dig his sword deeper into George’s heart, “How was the hunt, Sir George?”

“Bors, I wish you went. We got lucky and tracked down a couple of deer. We will be having venison tonight and you are invited to join.”

George tried to take the opportunity to slip away, casually sliding behind Bors as Bors casually shifted in front of Sir Fantumar. And as much as George complained about losing every battle against Bors, he was thankful for moments like this. However, this time even Bors couldn’t save him.

“Why didn’t your adopted son join us, Sir George? You mentioned he was an ace of an archer before, and he could even learn a thing or two from my Sapnap,” Sir Fantumar chimed in, reaching around Bors to drag George back into play.

“And I have told you before, George does not hunt for sport.” The edge of annoyance in his voice barely decipherable.

Sir Fantumar sneered at George, “Oh yes, I forgot Eviellans are squeamish to blood.”

Sir George abruptly spoke, “Bors, go unload our dinner from the cart, Sir Fantumar was just leaving.” And before George could react, his stepfather had turned Sir Fantumar around and was leading him towards his horses. He called behind him, “George, go help your mother and get ready for dinner.”

He stood dumbly for a second, before Bors knocked the back of his head with his meaty hand.

“You heard your father.”

And so, with a mix of relief and shame swirling in his chest—and an even bigger headache knocked into him—George climbed up the cobble steps towards his home.

* * *

_George was hot. No. George was burning. Flames licked up the sides of his body, scorching every cell of hair and skin as he desperately tried to move. But he couldn’t. He was trapped, arms and legs bound like a mummy as the purple and blue flames hungrily lapped his sides. He opened his mouth to scream for help, to scream in agony, but the smoke was just as hungry as the flames, and it started to choke George before a word could escape. White-hot flashes of pain blurred his vision, but he managed to focus long enough to zero in on a face that suddenly materialized above him._

_A cruel, twisted smile. Black hair hanging over pale dead skin. Deep purple eyes, vacant of any emotion but…hunger. Just like the flames that ate at George’s skin. Who was he? George tried to call for help, only a strangled noise escaping his throat. The disembodied face laughed, ice blue veins starting to bulge out of it’s face as the smoke that choked George curled itself around it._

_“The last piece…I found you.”_

_George felt the flames reach deep, felt himself fading into black as the face ate the smoke and laughed. Every atom of his being screamed, but worse yet, it felt like his very soul was being yanked out of him._

_Help. Help. Someone._

_Right as darkness was about to overwhelm his vision, a light brighter than the sun burned away the face, the flames, the smoke, the pain. Before George lost himself from the dream, he caught sight of freckled hand reaching out towards him. George tried to grab the outstretched hand, but suddenly he was falling. Falling, falling, falling into a void of darkness, watching the silhouette of his savior get smaller and smaller. He twisted around, turning his head just as he realized the ground was right—_

George gasped, jolting up from his bed in a panicked sweat and clutching at his heart. He looked around, sliding his hands up and down his arms. No burns. No pain. Just the same dream. His room was around him and real. He saw the blankets he had been under the night before tossed over the wooden floor. He saw the dark oak closet and drawers across from him, being washed with a morning glow from the huge windows that framed the left wall of his room. He struggled out of his sheets, bare feet relishing the cool wood beneath them. He padded over to the window, drawing the curtains even farther back, smiling down at the now familiar sight.

The rolling hills of grasses speckled with proud oak trees reaching towards the heavens above. The sun barely risen, bathing all it touched with warm yellows. Past the hills George could make out the start of a dark oak forest, the trunks seeming to stand as tall as the castle he was in, with branches curling in as if to beckon him into the unknown. George opened one of the windows, humming alongside the birds that had gotten an early start to the day, and starting to finally feel his muscles untense from the nightmare.

He went over to his drawer and picked out his long-sleeved navy shirt and pants and changed. Today was the day. The competition to become a knight of Dagonaut. Uneasiness settled in his heart once more.

“Seems like someone is excited.”

George turned to see his mother coming up the wooden stairs that lead up to his room.

“If you call nausea excitement, then yes, I’ve never been more excited.” George grumbled, walking over to sit on the edge of his window and look out once more.

His mother furrowed her eyebrows, taking a seat next to him as she cupped his face to turn him towards her.

“George, you will do amazing. I know you will make both of us proud.” Her caramel eyes sparked with a confidence that George couldn’t help but admire. Her trust in him astounded even himself sometimes.

He rolled his eyes, “You just have to say that cause you are my mother.”

“It is _because_ I am your mother that I know you’ll be victorious.” Her hand dropped to pat his knee reassuringly. “What’s on your mind?”

George sighed, looking down at his folded hands. “It’s just…even if I manage to be one of the top five, my blood would mark me as someone who stole the spot from a true Dagonaut citizen. I’ll never be seen as a knight of Dagonaut, not when all that flows through me is Eviellan.”

Silence surrounded them for a minute. His mother stilled, seeming to be deep in thought as George just fell back into listening to the birds outside. Finally, his mother moved, reaching under her apron and taking off a necklace she had hidden underneath her dress. She clasped George’s hand with her own, gently placing the talisman onto his palm. The dark yellowish-green softly glinted against the sunlight, jade in the shape of a three-headed dragon twisted around itself stared up at him, held by a leather rope.

“Do not ever allow the words of blind men sway you. The people here…many hate what they fear, what they do not understand. Being Eviellan does not make you weak. This was your father’s talisman. It is a symbol of strength: Eviellan strength.”

His mother smiled at him as he inspected the talisman. “You carry your Eviellan father’s wisdom, compassion, talent. You carry your Dagonaut father’s courage, determination, skill. That makes you double the person any one of those spiteful knights ever could be.”

At this point, George felt like he was going to implode from embarrassment. Cheeks burning and eyes twinkling, he quickly put the talisman on and tucked it under his shirt.

“Mother if you don’t stop, I will die of embarrassment.”

She giggled, standing up and dragging him up with her. “Oh, now we simply cannot have that! Maybe after you get knighted by Queen Alianor. Now, get ready! We have to have you on your horse and on your way within the hour.”

George fiddled with the new weight around his neck, closing his eyes briefly to imagine a freckled hand reaching out from the light to pick him up and whisk him away from this very nightmare.

But alas, this was reality and that was but a dream.

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts, comments, concerns? Suggestions? Sorry no Dream in this chapter, I want to establish the world and George a bit :) Should I make the chapters longer/shorter?


End file.
